


dear cyrus goodman

by you_get_to_exhale_now_cyrus



Category: Andi Mack (TV), Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Deh - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Self-Hatred, Sexual Jokes, Trigger Warnings, amber is uhh connor in this so, and we'll see how this plays out, andi is sabrina patel lol, buffy is alana, cursing, cyrus is evan hansen, deh au, it's a dear evan hansen / andi mack au fic, jonah is jared kleinman, sharon is heidi hansen, some death right there, warning: death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-07-12 19:16:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16001594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/you_get_to_exhale_now_cyrus/pseuds/you_get_to_exhale_now_cyrus
Summary: A letter than was never meant to be seen, a lie that was never meant to be told, a life he never dreamed he could have. Cyrus Goodman is about to get the one thing he’s always wanted; a chance to finally fit in.





	1. anybody have a map?

**Author's Note:**

> welcome! as a musical/andi mack nerd, i thought this would work out pretty well! i've only written the first chapter! ALL CREDIT GOES TO PASEK AND PAUL. 100% OF THE DIALOGUE IS THEIRS. The descriptions are mine.
> 
> send me requests / stalk me on tumblr @you-get-to-exhale-now-cyrus

Cyrus sat in front of his computer, the cursor blinking and the milky white glow just bright enough to make him squint a little. Wiping his hands on his khakis he began to type.

“Dear Cyrus Goodman,” he started, clearing his throat, “today is going to be a good day and here’s why; because,” he paused for a moment, “because, um, all you have to do is just be yourself,” he typed, ready to stop, but his anxiety said no.

“But also confident, that’s important, and interesting, like easy to talk to, approachable, but _mostly_ be yourself. That’s the big–like that’s number one, just um, be true to yourself so,” he rambled, stopping to catch his breath as his mind whirred on.

“Also though, don’t worry about whether your hands are going to get sweaty for no reason and you can’t make it stop no matter what you do because–because they’re not gonna get sweaty so I don’t even know why you’re bringing it up because it’s not gonna happen because you just-all you have to do is just ‘be yourself’ so,” he gasped for air, his thought running faster and faster. He felt like he was out of breath. _Breathe, Cyrus_ he told himself.

“I’m not even going to worry about it though, seriously because it’s not like, it’s it’s not gonna be like that time you had the perfect chance to introduce yourself to TJ Kippen at the basketball game last year when you waited afterwards just to talk to him and tell him how good he was and-and-and you were going to pretend to be like super casual like you didn’t even know his name. Like he would introduce himself and you’d be like ‘I’m sorry I didn’t hear you, CJ?, you said your name was CJ?’ and then he’d be like, “No it’s TJ, I said TJ” And you’d be like, ‘Oh, well see, I thought you said CJ because I’m just- I’m very busy with other stuff right now’ But, but you didn’t even end up saying anything to him because you were scared your hands were sweaty which they weren’t that sweaty until you started worrying that they were sweaty, which made them sweaty, so you put them under the hand dryer in the bathroom but they were still sweaty they were just very warm now as well,” Cyrus sighed. This letter was getting far more humiliating by the moment, but his therapist said it would help. And he really wasn’t in a position to disappoint someone right now.

“So,” his mom entered his room, prompting him to shut his laptop with a gentle click, “you just decided not to eat last night?” she pried, standing by his bedside.

“I wasn’t..hungry,” Cyrus mumbled, crossing his legs on the bed and picking at the side of his sneaker.

“You’re an eighth grader, Cyrus. You’ve gotta learn how to order dinner for yourself when I’m not around. You can do it all online now! You don’t have to talk to anyone on the phone. I know you don’t like the phone,” she pointed out, drumming her fingers absentmindedly on her son’s nightstand.

“Yeah, but see that’s not true actually. You have to talk to the delivery person when they come to the door. Then they have to make change, you have to stand there while it’s silent and they’re counting the change,”Cyrus pointed out, his hands getting sweaty at just the thought of having to make small talk with a stranger. Terrifying.

“Okay, this is what you’re supposed to be working on, Cyrus, with Dr. Sherman. Talking, to people. Engaging with people!” she exclaimed, putting her hands up in the air, “Not running away from people,”

“You’re right, I’m going to be a lot better,” Cyrus lied. He knew darn well that all the therapy in the world wasn’t going to help him. In the past year alone, he’d been through four therapists, only to end up at a fifth one now, Dr. Sherman. Sure, she was nice and tried to understand. _Tried_. That was the key word. None of the therapists really understood how he felt.

“No, no, I _know_ you are,” his mom assured him, adjusting her hair, “and that’s why I made you an appointment with Dr. Sherman for this afternoon. I’ll pick you up after school,” she informed him.

“I already have an appointment next week,” Cyrus murmured in a hushed tone. Was he really _that_ broken that he needed even _more_ therapy?

“And I thought maybe you could use something a bit sooner!” she cheered merrily, turning towards his computer, “Hey! Have you been writing those letters she wants you to do? The letters to yourself, the little pep-talks. ‘Dear Cyrus Goodman this is going to be a good day and here’s why’! Have you been doing those?” she rattled off, motioning to his computer once more.

“Yeah, I started writing one,” Cyrus replied with a sliver of confidence in his voice, but the sigh from his mother quickly made that disappear.

“I’ll finish it at school,” he assured her, slipping on his New Balance sneakers and shoving things into his backpack, regardless of what they were; he just needed to be doing something.

“Those letters are important, honey, they’re going to help you build your confidence! Seize the day,” she joked, making muscle arms.

Cyrus sighed, pushing his curls back. “I guess,” he muttered, not buying it.

“I don’t want another year of you sitting at home on your computer every Friday night saying you ‘have no friends’,” she air quoted, giving her son a sympathetic smile as he headed out the door for school.

“Neither do I,” Cyrus whispered to himself, focusing on his stride, making sure that he didn’t take steps too big or too small. Were his hands sweating again? He rubbed them on his shirt to just make sure. It was going to be a long year.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: Mentions of drugs, Cursing
> 
> Author’s Note: All dialogue comes from the Dear Evan Hansen script. I own none of the dialogue, credit goes to Pasek and Paul. I’ve written the way things are said, actions, and anything not dialogue. Also for the sake of this fic, the names of the Kippen parents (the Murphys in DEH) will be Martha and Lucas. Thank you!

“It’s your eighth grade year, Amber. You are not missing the first day,” her mom stated firmly, but with tenderness lacing her voice. It had already been an exhausting morning; one of many.

“I already said I’d go tomorrow. I’m trying to find a compromise here,” the young girl huffed, drumming her black, chipped nails on the table incessantly. Her eyes rolled back so far that her mom thought they would be permanently stuck there.

Martha sighed, and focused her attention on her husband, whose face was buried in the daily paper. “You want to jump in here Lucas?” she pried, raising her brows at him, in vain.

“You have to go to school Amber,” he mumbled, his gaze never leaving the small print of the sports section.

“That’s it?” Martha scoffed, crossing her arms. Her husband couldn’t be contributing any less to this conversation.

“What do you want me to say? Look at her. She’s not listening. She’s probably high,” he accused, flipping the paper sharply.

“She’s definitely high,” TJ chimed in, his head hung low as he focused on his bowl of cereal. His leg bounced constantly, but it wasn’t something he noticed.

Amber’s head snapped up, glaring at her brother. “Fuck you,” she sneered.

“Fuck you,” TJ shot back, a scowl crossing his face.

“I don’t need you picking at your sister, right now. That is not constructive,” Martha warned TJ, wagging a finger in his direction.

“Are you kidding?” TJ growled, finally meeting his mother’s eyes. His words left with a bit more animosity than expected, but what could he do now.

“Besides,” Martha said, much more relaxed, “she’s not high,” she announced, peeking at Amber. The blonde girl smirked, refusing to make eye contact with her mother.

Martha sighed, defeated. “I don’t want you going to school high, Amber. We’ve talked about this,” she reminded her daughter, rubbing at her temples.

“Perfect. So then I won’t go. Thanks mom,” Amber grinned devilishly, swinging her backpack onto her shoulders and knocking over her chair in the process. She left without another word, getting ready for the day. Martha threw the towel over her shoulder and followed her daughter up the stairs, muttering something about making more coffee.

Lucas scowled at his phone. “The Interstate’s already jammed,” he groaned, grabbing his jacket from off of the back of his chair and slipping it on. 

TJ went to grab the pitcher of milk, and noted its lightness. “Amber finished the milk!” he whined, placing the pitcher down with a gentle thud and letting out a frustrated sigh.

Lucas grabbed his suitcase and pecked his wife on the head quickly. “I better head out,” he said hurriedly, adjusting his tie and leaving the house.

“Making this up as I go,” Martha muttered to herself, as the rest of her family left for their days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I haven't updated in so long! I've been busy with school and other fic requests, but I promise I will keep updating this one!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Trigger Warnings: Implied Sexual Content, Shooting Mention, Cursing, Mild Physical Violence
> 
> Author’s Note: All dialogue comes from the Dear Evan Hansen script. I own none of the dialogue, credit goes to Pasek and Paul. I’ve written the way things are said, actions, and anything not dialogue. Also for the sake of this fic, the names of the Kippen parents (the Murphys in DEH) will be Martha and Lucas. Thank you!

Cyrus walked into school, his eyes nervously darting around as bodies passed him quickly, leaving trails of cologne and sweet perfume around him. The bell rang shrilly, causing the small boy to wince. As he turned on his heel to go to his first class, someone interrupted his thoughts.

“How was your summer?” Buffy beamed at him, adjusting her glasses with her free hand, as the other clutched books to her chest.

Cyrus immediately felt his hands gravitating down to wipe the sweat off of his palms. “…I’m sorry I-”

“Mine was productive,” she cut in, a bit too zealously, “I did 3 internships and 90 hours of community service. I know: wow,” she gushed, her smile growing so wide Cyrus thought it would pop off of her face.

“Yeah that’s wow, that’s impressive,” Cyrus stammered, shuffling his feet awkwardly. Why couldn’t he have been sick today?

“Even with all that, I still made some great friends. Or I guess, acquaintances, more like,” she shrugged, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

Cyrus blinked a few times; this conversation was still going somehow, and he wasn’t about to just curl up and end it here. He tried what Dr. Sherman suggested; small talk.

“Do you want to maybe…I don’t know what you’re um…do you want to sign my cast?” He eventually spat the words out, but not without fumbling several times before. He reached into his back pocket for his Sharpie, and Buffy immediately took a step back, gasping at the cast on his arm.

“Oh my God! What happened to your arm?” she exclaimed loudly, again causing Cyrus to wince from the volume.

“Oh…I uh…broke it climbing this tree,” he muttered lamely. It wasn’t a _total_ lie.

Buffy’s mind was somewhere else; certainly not in this conversation. “Oh really? My grandma broke her hip getting into the bathtub last July. That was the beginning of the end the doctors said, because then she died,” she stated plainly.

Cyrus could do nothing but stand there and have his eyes flit nervously over the other girl’s face. Did nothing faze her? He nodded and tried to hand Buffy the pen, but she just kept smiling.

“Happy first day!” she cheered, skipping off to her next class. Cyrus was left alone in the hallway. Again.

* * *

“Is it weird to be the first person in history to break their arm from jerking off too much? Or do you consider than an honor?” Jonah snickered, coming up behind the nervous teen.

Cyrus looked bewildered, trying to shush his ‘friend’ as best he could. “Wait, what…I didn’t…that’s not what happened,” he defended himself weakly, picking at a stray blue string on his shirt.

Jonah smirked. “Paint me the picture. You’re in your bedroom, you’ve got TJ Kippen’s Instagram pulled up on your weird off-brand cell phone…”

“That’s not what happened!” Cyrus whimpered, although he tried to sound threatening, “Obviously…I was, um, I was climbing a tree and I fell,”

Jonah broke out into a devilish laugh. “You _fell_ from a _tree_? What are you, like, an acorn?”

Cyrus pulled his backpack higher onto his shoulders. “Well I was, I don’t know if you know this, but I worked this summer as an apprentice park ranger at Shadyside Park. I’m sort of a tree expert now. Not to brag,” he rambled, feeling his cheeks heat from embarrassment.

Jonah just stared at him, with a look that read ‘you’re the lamest, Goodman’. Cyrus shifted his weight from foot to foot before speaking again.

“Anyways, I tried to climb this forty-foot oak tree-”

“And then you _fell_ ,” Jonah finished for him, breaking into a fit of giggles.

“Well, except it’s a funny story, because there was this solid 10 minutes after I fell, where I just lay there on the ground waiting for someone to come get me,” he rambled, staring off into the distance as if he were having a flashback to that moment, “Any second now, I kept saying to myself. Any second now, here they come,”

Jonah waited for a beat for Cyrus to continue his story before butting in, again. “Did they?”

Cyrus nearly scoffed, smiling weakly. “No. Nobody came. That’s the, that’s what’s funny about it,” he explained, shrinking into himself as he spoke.

“Jesus Christ,” Jonah chortled, shaking his head.

Cyrus sighed, defeated. “How was, what did you do for, you have a good summer?”

Jonah beamed proudly, puffing out his chest. “Well, my camp dominated in capture the flag and I got to second-base-below-the-bra with some girl from Israel who’s going to, like, be in the army…so yeah. I think that answers your question.” Jonah turned to walk away, before being caught by Cyrus’ meek voice.

“Do you want to sign my cast?” he asked, his brown eyes drowning in worry.

“Why are you asking me?” Jonah replied incredulously, raising his brows.

“Well, I just thought, because we’re friends,” Cyrus started to justify his reasoning before he was cut off.

“We’re _family_ friends. That’s a whole different thing and you know it,” Jonah explained, slinging his arm around Cyrus. “Hey, tell your mom to tell my mom I was nice to you or else my parents won’t pay for my car insurance,”

Just then, a locker slammed, and Amber huffed down the hallway, her shoulder length hair swishing back and forth. Much to Cyrus’ misfortune, she was headed his way.

“Hey Amber! Loving the new hair length! Very school shooter chic,” Jonah commented, wearing one of his signature grins. No laughing ensued; just deafening silence.

“I was kidding…it was a joke,” Jonah explained.

“Yeahno, it was funny. I’m laughing. Can’t you tell? Am I not laughing hard enough for you?” The girl deadpanned, her glare cold with a touch of hurt.

Jonah started backing away, his generally extroverted demeanor disappearing and replaced with nervous energy. “You’re such a…freak,” he muttered, turning to go. His words hung in the air, and Cyrus didn’t know what to do. Involuntarily, he laughed nervously, trying to fill the silence with sound.

“What are you laughing at?” Amber demanded, her knuckles turning white as she clenched her hands into fists.

Cyrus froze; that was clearly the wrong thing to do. Then again, when did he ever know what to do in a social situation? “What?” he squeaked out.

“Stop fucking laughing at me!” she sneered, taking steps towards him.

Cyrus could feel his palms begin to sweat and started to swipe them along the side of his shirt. “I’m not-”

“You think I’m a freak?” Amber demanded, taking another step towards him, seeing the boy flinch.

“No, I don’t-”

“I’m not the freak!” she shrieked, her face right up against his.

“But I wasn’t-”

“You’re the fucking freak,” she spat, shoving the boy to the ground and stomping past him. Cyrus knew he was going to be bruised, but there was so much going on, that the pain he felt when he fell was minimal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is longer, so i hope you enjoyed! leave a comment!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: Cursing, Self-Hatred, Minor Death Mention
> 
> Author’s Note: All dialogue comes from the Dear Evan Hansen script. I own none of the dialogue, credit goes to Pasek and Paul. I’ve written the way things are said, actions, and anything not dialogue. Also for the sake of this fic, the names of the Kippen parents (the Murphys in DEH) will be Martha and Lucas. Thank you!

Cyrus lay on the ground frozen; all he could notice was that his hands were shaking, his heart was humming, and there was a few flecks of dirt on the ground. After laying there for what felt like ages, he propped himself up and reached for his backpack.

“Hey, I’m sorry about my sister. I saw her push you. She’s a psychopath. Cyrus, right?” TJ rushed up to the boy, looking him up and down to make sure he was okay.

As if this day couldn’t get any worse, Cyrus was now face to face with TJ, who he had a not-so-secret crush on. Great. And his hands were sweating. “Cyrus?” he squeaked, almost having forgotten his name.

“That’s your name…?” TJ pried, his brows knitting up in confusion.

“Oh. Yes. Cyrus. It’s Cyrus. I’m sorry,” he fumbled over his words, mentally scolding himself. How could he have forgotten his own _name_? Probably because he was lost in TJ’s seagreen eyes.

TJ let out a breathy laugh. “Why are you sorry?”

“Well, just because you said Cyrus, and then I said, and then I repeated it, which is, that’s so annoying when people do that,” he rambled, his nails digging into his sweaty palms.

“I’m TJ,” he greeted, extending his hand for Cyrus to shake.

“No, I know,” Cyrus insisted, wiping his palms on his shirt instead of shaking TJ’s. He was not about to come off as sweaty and awkward. Well, sweaty; awkward was inevitable.

“You know?” he questioned, pulling his hand back.

 _You sound like a stalker,_ Cyrus thought to himself. “No, just, I’ve seen you play guitar in jazz band. I love jazz band. I love jazz! Well not all jazz, but definitely, like, jazz band jazz. That’s so weird I’m sorry,” he breathed out, his heart beating so loudly he thought TJ could hear it.

“You apologize a lot,” TJ noted lightly, a gentle smile gracing his face.

“I’m sorry…or, I mean. You know what I mean,” Cyrus sighed in resignation.

“Well, it was nice meeting you-”

“You don’t wanna sign my-”

“What-”

“What, what’d you say?”

The words clashed, and Cyrus was regretting his decision of trying to keep the conversation going. Not his forte. 

“I didn’t say anything. You said something,” TJ pointed out, rocking back on his heels and waiting for Cyrus’ reply.

“Me?” the shorter boy squeaked, “No was…José,” he joked weakly, dodging the question.

TJ smiled uncertainly. “Okay… José,” he replied, turning to walk away. Cyrus watched him leave, rounding the corner. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and hurried on to his next activity; printing out his letter. And finishing it. Curse his procrastination.

On his way there, he tried to get someone, _anyone_ , to notice him. He even tried making eye contact with people, but to no avail. Buffy was blabbing to someone about her college plans, Andi was working on some sort of school project, and TJ…well TJ would never notice him, so there wasn’t that.

Although Cyrus didn’t notice, Amber noted his presence in the hallway.

* * *

“Shit, honey. I know I was supposed to pick you up for your appointment. I’m stuck at work. Sharon called in sick with the flu and I’m the only other nurse’s aide on today, so I volunteered to pick up her shift,” Leslie explained, sighing in frustration.

“It’s fine,” he said through the phone, opening up his letter on his computer with his free hand.

“It’s just…they announced new budget cuts this morning, so anything I can do to show that I’m, you know, a team player,” she said with mild bravado, and Cyrus could practically hear her smiling on the other end.

“It’s fine. I’ll take the bus,” he told her. This was expected; his mom was never there when he needed her, but could he blame her?

He heard his mom sigh on the other side of the phone. “Perfect. That’s perfect. Oh, and I’m going straight from here to class, so I won’t be home until late, so please eat something. We’ve got those Trader Joe’s dumplings in the freezer,” she suggested gently.

“Maybe,” he mumbled, opening up his letter and scrolling to the bottom.

“Did you write one of those letters yet? Dr. Sherman’s expecting you to have one, ‘Dear Cyrus Goodman. This is going to be a good day and here’s why’?” she pried.

“Yeah, no, I already finished it. I’m in the computer lab right now, printing it out,” he lied. Well, half-lied. He _was_ in the computer lab right now.

“I hope it was a good day, sweetheart,” his mom cooed.

“It was..” a silence fell over him, and lasted much more than it should have. “Yeah, it was really great,” he lied again.

“Great. That’s great,” his mom exclaimed, “I hope it’s the beginning of a great year. I think we could both use one of those, huh?” she joked, clearing her throat, “Shit. I have to run. Bye. I love you,” she said, hanging up.

“Bye,” Cyrus croaks out, but his mom had already hung up. Slipping his phone into his pocket, he thought for a moment before continuing his letter.

“Dear Cyrus Goodman. It turns out, this wasn’t an amazing day after all. This isn’t going to be an amazing week or an amazing year because…why would it?” he said to himself with a sad laugh.

“Oh, I know. Because there’s TJ, and all my hope is…pinning on TJ, who I don’t even know, and who doesn’t know me. But maybe if I did, maybe if I could just talk to him then..” he lingered on that thought for a moment, before he continued, “maybe…maybe nothing would be different at all. I wish everything was different. I wish that I was a part of…something. I wish that anything I said, um, mattered to anyone,” he chuckled, nervous and sad laughter building inside of him.

“I mean face it; would anyone notice if I disappeared tomorrow?” he wrote, and sat there in stunned silence. _Would_ anyone notice if he disappeared tomorrow? …Probably not. “Sincerely your best and most dearest friend…me,”

“So,” Amber’s voice shattered the delicate silence that built around Cyrus, “What happened to your arm?”

“Oh, um, I fell out of a tree, actually,” Cyrus replied, trying to comprehend the fact that someone was _talking_ to _him_.

“You feel out of a tree,” Amber asked, but it sounded more like a statement, “That is just the saddest fucking thing I’ve ever heard. Oh my God,” she snorted, a paper rustling in her hand.

“I know,” Cyrus agrees.

“No one’s signed your cast,” she notes after a beat.

“No, I know.”

“I’ll sign it.”

Those were a few words he didn’t expect from Amber.

“Oh…um, you don’t have to,” he suggested, backing away slowly.

“Do you have a Sharpie?”

After another beat of silence, Cyrus pulled out a Sharpie from his pocket and handed it to Amber. She grabbed his cast and pulled it towards her, causing him to wince. She scrawled ‘AMBER’ really big, and smiled at her penmanship.

“Oh, great. Thanks,” Cyrus replied, not amused.

“Now we can both pretend that we have friends,” she said suddenly, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

“Good point,” Cyrus mumbled, rocking back on his heels as he was ready to leave.

“Is this yours?” she says suddenly, holding out a freshly printed piece of paper, “I found it on the printer. Dear Cyrus Goodman, that’s your name right?”

Cyrus felt a surge of fear take over his body. “Oh that’s just a stupid, it’s a paper I had to write for a, um, for an assignment,” he spat out, scrambling to find an explanation.

“Because there’s TJ?” she paused, narrowing her eyes at Cyrus, “Is this about my brother?”

“N-No. Not at all,” he lied again, panic taking over his body.

“You wrote this because you knew that I would find it,” she stated firmly, the paper shaking slightly in her clammy hand.

“What?” the boy balked, his mouth slightly ajar.

“You saw that I was the only other person in the computer lab, so you wrote this and printed it out, so that I would find it,” she fumed.

“Why would I do that-”

“So I could read some creepy shit you wrote about my brother and freak out, right? And then you can tell everyone that _I’m_ crazy!” she shrieked, her breaths choppy.

“No. Wait! I don’t even, what?” Cyrus stammered, feeling his breath come quicker.

“Fuck you!” she shouts, running out of the room with the paper in hand. His letter. _His letter_.

“But I really, I need that back! Please. Can you just, can you please give it back?” he begged, running after Amber and hearing his feet slam against the floor with each step. This was a nightmare.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings:Cursing, Major Death Mention, Suicide Mention
> 
> Author’s Note: All dialogue comes from the Dear Evan Hansen script. I own none of the dialogue, credit goes to Pasek and Paul. I’ve written the way things are said, actions, and anything not dialogue. Also for the sake of this fic, the names of the Kippen parents (the Murphys in DEH) will be Martha and Lucas. Thank you!

Later that day, Cyrus found himself talking to Jonah on video chat. It was something that friends did…but Jonah was different. They were _family_ friends.

“A letter to yourself? What the crap does that even mean? Is that some kind of sex thing?” he snickered.

“No, it’s not a sex thing. It’s…it was an assignment,” Cyrus supplied lamely, hoping Jonah couldn’t see his nerves getting the best of himself from the other side of the screen.

“Why are you talking to me about this?” Jonah fired back.

“I didn’t know who else to talk to. You’re my only…family friend,” Cyrus grumbled finally, chewing on his bottom lip.

“Oh my God,” Jonah muttered, holding back a few chuckles.

“I don’t know what to do. She stole the letter from me three days ago, and then she just, she hasn’t been at school since,” he rambled, picking at a free strand of his shirt.

“That does not bode well for you,” Jonah commented, smirking when he saw Cyrus face change to a look of pure terror.

“What’s she going to do with it?” Cyrus worried, more to himself than to Jonah.

“Who knows? Amber Kippen is batshit out of her mind! Do you remember when she threw a printer at Mrs. G in second grade because she didn’t get to be the line leader that day?” Jonah reminded him, playing back the scene in his mind.

Cyrus gulped, his fingers digging into the side of his shoe. “Do you think she’s going to show the letter to other people?”

Jonah scoffed, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “She’s going to ruin your life with it. For sure. I mean, I would,”

Later, Cyrus found himself approaching the principal’s office. He’d been called in over the announcer, which he hated, since it brought him attention. Peering inside, he saw two figures, one standing and one sitting on the couch.

“Good morning, is Dr. Metcalf…” he trailed, the two faces meeting his with tears and confusion, “I just, sorry, they said on the loudspeaker for me to go to the principal’s office,”

The one who was standing, a man with salt and pepper hair, looked as though he finally realized what was happening. “Dr. Metcalf stepped out,” he supplied, tiredly.

“Oh,” Cyrus mumbled weakly, feeling his hands clam up.

“We wanted to speak with you in private. If you’d like to maybe…” the man gestured to a chair for Cyrus to sit.

Cyrus carefully took a seat, nearly missing the chair since his gaze was focused on the man’s face.

“We’re uh…we’re Amber’s parents,” he added, his voice sounding like it was about to break.

“Oh,” Cyrus said again, watching as the woman, who was hunched over on the couch, shakily pulled out a piece of paper from her purse.

“Why don’t you go ahead, honey, and…?” Lucas coaxed.

“I’m going as fast as I can,” Martha mustered out, sounding as if she’d been crying for hours.

“That’s not what I said, is it?” he asked, though it came out more as a statement than a question.

A long pause followed. Cyrus could practically hear his own thoughts.

“This is…Amber…she wanted you to have this,” she choked out, wiping away a few loose tears, handing the note to Cyrus, who took it with trembling hands.

“We didn’t…we’d never head your name before, Amber never…but then we saw…’Dear Cyrus Goodman’,” Lucas continued, pointing at the paper.

“She, um, she gave this to you?” Cyrus squeaked out, peering down at the paper. It was _his_ letter. The one Amber stole. Amber’s parents had _his_ letter. They read _his_ letter.

“We didn’t know that you two were friends,” Lucas mumbled, and Cyrus’ brows almost shot up to his hairline.

“Friends?” The word tasted strange.

“We didn’t think that Amber had _any_ friends. And then we see this note and it’s, this seems to suggest pretty clearly that you and Amber were, or at least for Amber, she thought of you as…” he explained, pointing again to the letter, “I mean it’s right here, ‘Dear Cyrus Goodman’. It’s addressed to you. She wrote it to you.”

 _She wrote it to you._ Those words replayed over and over in Cyrus’ mind. “You think this is, you think that Amber wrote this to me,” he asked, but it was definitely more like a statement. Never had he said something with such confidence before, about something so bizarre.

“These are the words she wanted to share with you,” Martha piped up, wringing her hands.

“Her last words,” Lucas added.

“This is what she wanted you to have,”

“I’m sorry. What do you mean, last words?” Cyrus breathed out, his throat tightening with each word. It couldn’t be that…no.

Lucas and Martha looked at each other, as if trying to communicate with their eyes. Martha buried her head in her hands, her tears coming out shakily,

“Amber, uh, Amber took her own life,”

Cyrus felt like he’d been hit with a ton of bricks. _What?_ Maybe he heard it wrong. Maybe his anxiety was getting the best of him…no. He’d heard right.

“She…what?” he hardly got that out, too stunned to say anything else.

“This is all we found with her. She had it folded up in her pocket,” he explained wearily, and continued after a brief pause, “you can see that she’s…she wanted to explain it, why she was,”

He paused again, taking a short breath before trying to recite some of the letter from memory. “I wish that everything was different. I wish that I were a part of something. I with that what I said matter to anyone,”

“Please, stop it Lucas,” Martha shook, a choked sob escaping her lips.

Cyrus felt his breathing coming a little quicker. Everything was happening so quickly, and he felt like he couldn’t keep up. His palms were sweating like crazy.

“But that’s, this isn’t…I’m sorry. Amber, uh, Amber didn’t write this,” he mumbled. First truth of the day.

“What does that mean?” Martha trembled, looking to Cyrus for answers.

“Amber didn’t, she didn’t write this,” he repeated meekly.

“What does he mean?” Martha repeated, this time her attention directed towards her husband. She looked completely and utterly lost.

“He’s obviously in shock,” Lucas supplied lamely.

“No, I just, she didn’t,” Cyrus sputtered before getting tangled in a mess of dialogue with Amber’s parents.

“It’s right there,” Martha cried, pointing to the letter with a shaking finger.

“I’m sorry, but I should probably just, can I please go now?” he practically begged. He didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to stay in here.

“If this isn’t, if Amber didn’t write this, then…”

“Martha. Please. Calm down.”

“I should go now,” Cyrus repeated, reaching for his backpack.

“But did she say anything to you?” Martha pleaded, “Did you see anything–”

“I really should go…”

“Martha, honey, this is not the time,” Lucas cut in, albeit sharply.

“This is all we have! This is the only thing we have left,” she shrieked, dissolving into tears.

Lucas reached out to take her hand, but she jerked it away, distraught. “Martha,” he mumbled.

Cyrus knew when he was not wanted somewhere. This was one of those times. “You should just,” he said, stretching his arm out with the letter in hand, “you should take it, please,”

Suddenly, Martha gasped, staring at what Cyrus thought was the letter. “Lucas. Look,” she pointed to Cyrus cast, “his cast,”

Immediately, Cyrus looked down, meeting her gaze. He lifts his arm and sees ‘AMBER’ scrawled in big letters across his cast.

_I’ll sign it._

“Her best and most dearest friend,” she whispered to Lucas, before the bell rang, causing them to step out of the room.

And then Cyrus was alone. But it was time for class. Something else to focus on.


End file.
